


One Monster to Another

by leo_lullaby



Category: Captain America (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Bromance, Caring!Sam, Chick-Flick Moments, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I like PTSD!Bucky way too much guys, Mild spoilers CATWS and SPN s6, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, hurt!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4378784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_lullaby/pseuds/leo_lullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Winchester is all too-well versed in the area of sleep deprivation. When Bucky is barely sleeping and staying quiet about it, Steve calls in the Winchester brothers to see if a new face with similar experience could help his friend settle. Sam is sure they can relate on some level, they have both been out of control of their own bodies and have the emotional scars to show for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Monster to Another

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a random drabble I thought of (having fun with the concept of a "monster") and wanted to expand on, I can continue if ya'll want.

Bucky glances over at Sam before looking down again. He looks at his left hand, stretching and flexing the fingers. He turns his hand slightly to watch it catch in the remaining sunlight of the day peeking through the window.

“Dean mentioned earlier that you’ve... been  _under_... before.” Bucky tries to find the right words to say and shifts nervously as he feels Sam’s gaze on him, “Kind of like I was.”

Sam looks over at the former soldier, the familiar wrinkle forming in between his eyebrows. Sam fidgets with the almost half-empty beer in his hand Steve offered him. He clears his throat and looks out over the sun setting over the skyline outside of the high up apartment Steve and Bucky are staying in for the moment.

“I know why you’re here, Sam. I’m sorry Steve called you two. I know you guys are busy.” Bucky picks up on the taller man's nonverbal cues and mutters with slight embarrassment.

“We were in town on a case anyways. We took care of it last night, and down time with you two is never something we like passing up.” Sam gives a small smile that Bucky quickly looks over and analyzes before looking back down at his hand.

Bucky sighs and shifts to hide his hand between his body and the arm of the sofa. He nods once and returns his gaze to the city slowly fading to red and purple. Sam can see the deep bags under his eyes and strain in the corners of his blue gaze. His normally strong frame is tucked into the corner of the sofa, making him appear as small as possible. The man’s shaggy dark hair is slightly unkempt and thrown hastily back into a small bun from when he suddenly learned the brothers were here.

Sam knows the signs of sleep deprivation when he sees them.

“So, how long has it been since you've slept?” Sam prods gently.

Bucky’s glassy blue eyes flicker over to him and search the man’s gaze. It hurts Bucky to see all of the emotion and compassion in the hazel gaze and he looks away.

“I know Steve wants you to talk to me.” Bucky dodges the question softly, “But I told him I don’t want to see a shrink. I’m handling it.”

Sam sinks farther back into the cushions and sighs. The sun has set completely now and the sky holds only reds and purples, all of the light blue faded away.

“I know you think you are. I’ve been there, Bucky. I know talking to someone about anything that happened while… _under_ , is hard. But just talking, it can help sometimes. The crazy ladies with the clipboards can be right every now and again.” Sam glances at the tired smirk on Bucky’s lips.

“I just don’t want to talk, Sam. I don’t want to answer the questions. I can’t anymore.” Bucky’s tone is flat and exhausted.

Sam nods, expecting this answer, then leans forward to set his beer on the coffee table. He slaps his hands on his thighs and settles back onto the couch with a sigh.

“Well, how about you ask me then?” He asks with an honest gaze.

Bucky blinks in confusion before stealing a glance at the man sitting opposite him. He shifts and pulls the sleeves of his jacket down farther over his hands.

“No, Sam, it’s fine. You should go be with Steve and your brother and-”

“Bucky, I came here to talk to you. There is nothing you are keeping me from, nothing else on my agenda for tonight, alright? So start asking.” Sam watches him with expectance.

He can see the gears turning in Bucky’s head and the different waves of fear, regret, and sadness flashing across his shiny eyes wide from fatigue.

“And because I can see you are about to ask, yes I’m sure. You have to realize Buck; I’ve had people to talk to. Good people. They listened and I know it sounds stupid, but it helped. Steve said you barely leave here and whenever you two do talk you are always the one asking questions anyways.” Bucky swallows nervously and nods his head.

He sighs and runs his free hand over his face before rubbing his eyes.

“Lord, I wish I could still get drunk.” He mutters.

Sam laughs once at the unexpected bout of humor from the other man before settling once more and watching Bucky intently. The former soldier shifts under his gaze uncomfortably, knowing he cannot talk his way out of this one.

“Alright, talk to me. Question me. Interrogate me, if you want.” Sam nudges lightly, making Bucky smile weakly and shake his head.

He looks out at the quickly dimming sky and shakes his head again.

“So you… lost yourself.” He cannot look at Sam but keeps his eyes focused on the city’s rooftops.

Sam exhales slowly and nods once. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Had something else in your head pulling the strings?” Bucky asks with a blank voice.

“Yeah, it was bad.”

“Did you lose yourself to the enemy?”

Sam pauses in surprise. He looks to the ground and takes another steadying breath.

“Yeah, it was to basically the worst enemy out there.” Bucky glances over at Sam, hearing the emotion in his voice change.

His eyes narrow slightly, his brain enjoying the chance to analyze again. His lips purse a little in thought and he watches the shifts in Sam’s face. The hunter's large and emotional hazel eyes change from accepted remorse to a sharper level of guilt and engraved pain. His eyebrows furrow deeper and the lines around the corners of his mouth pull harder.

“You have that look in your eyes,” Bucky comments gently, “What happened to Dean?”

Sam meets his eyes, startled by the man’s level of insight. He searches the ground, remembering truly how difficult it is to talk about things like this. He takes another breath and blows it out slowly.

“Dean he... he wanted to help. I tried to take on the challenge by myself but I couldn’t, he was not supposed to even be near me and…” Bucky sees the guilt in Sam’s eyes and waits patiently for the man to collect his thoughts.

He can see the desperation in Sam’s face and shifts to face him more, trying to show he is attentive and caring to the man’s story.

“…I could have killed him. I hurt him, badly. And then I left him, even after he wouldn’t fight me.” Sam finally meets Bucky’s gaze and is relieved to see some emotion in the tired blue gaze.

Bucky swallows down the lump in his throat. This was hitting too close to home and can already feel his heartbeat quickening in his chest. Sam's pure openness sends a wave of guilt through the former solider, he could never be that expressive again and hates making Sam relive this sorrow.

“That wasn’t you though.” Bucky tries his best to offer a reassuring smile that felt more like a grimace on his lips. Sympathizing was a lot harder than he remembered, especially when he the words he was giving out were not accepted in his own mind.

Sam stares seriously at Bucky’s open expression. He rarely seems to get past the trained outer shell that the man has become, so this level of caring and emotion makes his hopes grow. He smiles sadly at the sadness in Bucky’s gaze.

“I keep telling myself that, Buck, I know." Sam's lips press into a thin line and he feels the buried guilt resurfacing, "I just let him in in the first place.”

“Let who in?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together in slight confusion.

Sam licks his lips nervously, mentally reprimanding himself for slipping in too many details that could be too intense for the other man to deal with.

“I’ll… I’ll just say the bad guy.” Sam's voice cracks slightly and he clears his throat, avoiding looking the other man in the eye and get his bluff called.

Bucky blinks once and looks out the window to the deep ink purple sky, mind turning slightly. His voice is soft, “Lucifer?”

Sam startles and feels his stomach drop, the alcohol there suddenly heavy and bitter.

“How’d you-?”

“Dean told me,” Bucky interjects calmly, still watching the day turn to night.

“He said he didn’t want me to be too in-the-dark freaked out because he figured you’d talk eventually, something about you being the emotional one." Bucky gives a small smirk and shifts to hug one knee against his chest with his free arm.

Sam lets out a small laugh of relief and smiles slightly. He forgets at times how quickly Bucky seems to adapt to their lifestyle and stories.

“But, he mostly said that you saved the world,” Bucky adds with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, “So thanks?”

Sam scoffs and laughs again at the humor Bucky is trying to bring in. He wonders how similar this tired man is to the Bucky that Steve sometimes tells him about when the two of them were younger.

“Sure, I guess. I won’t say "you’re welcome" though,” Sam’s smile slowly fades into a slight grimace, “I did nothing great while... under.”

Bucky shrugs lightly and throws him a glance.

“How could you have? That’s the whole point about being under, you’re... gone.” Bucky's tone changes and he trails off.

The last sentence has Sam watching the other man carefully. Bucky’s shoulders fold even more to make the man seem smaller. He hugs his knee tighter and Sam can see him shifting to keep his metal arm out of sight. The man’s tired eyes are no longer blank or compassionate but fogged and lost in a nightmare.

“You have "that look" too.” Sam comments quietly.

Bucky blinks quickly and his eyes flicker to Sam’s. Sam can see the emotional relation the man is feeling and trying to suppress. The walls that the former soldier has set up are cracking and he can't rebuild them fast enough to hide from the younger Winchester. Bucky sighs and runs his hand tiredly over his face.

“Sharing is caring, talk to me.” Sam encourages lightly.

Bucky scoffs hollowly and his tongue runs nervously over his lower lip. He exhales deeply, letting his glassy eyes travel lightly over the city as the lights turn on for the night.

“I-I wasn’t… me anymore.” He begins quietly, “But I... was? I’m not sure. I was something else, something worse, something… dark. But it was still my brain and body. My memories,” Bucky trails off in a murmur before suddenly blinking out of the trance he fell into and Sam mentally swears as he sees the other man emotionally recede once more.

“And I-I’m sure you’ve seen all the files.” Bucky adds shakily, trying to close off the conversation while jamming his metal arm back farther into the cushions even though it is already hidden beneath the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“I’ve seen records, Bucky. But words on a page don’t tell the entire story.” Sam keeps his contradiction gentle but pointed towards the conversation.

Sam can feel Bucky slowly chipping away to open up. Every time he thinks there is progress, the other man shuts it down once more. He urges gently. “You say it was still your brain, but if I went to a file like you say, then it would tell me brainwashing.”

Bucky swallows nervously and fidgets, dropping his gaze to the hand resting on his knee. It is his right hand, his real hand, Sam notes pointedly and his eyes flicker as Bucky slowly shifts to sit with his legs crossed underneath him. The man cautiously places both hands in his lap, the sleeve of his left arm not quite covering his fingers entirely. Bucky shifts the fabric so he can stare down at the two hands naked in his lap. They are perfect twins, too perfect to be real. His left is shiny and he wishes he could take a sander to the metal to take the reflections away. He really wishes he could just chip the metal off and find his hand underneath, like it is some sort of armor rather than a weapon fused to his body. It doesn’t make him a warrior with protective plating.

It makes him a weapon...

A monster.

“You’re not a monster, Buck.” Sam’s gentle voice makes him jump.

Bucky stares at him with wide eyes, unaware he had been talking. How screwed up was his head now? His lips search for words and his hands clench to fists.

“You’ve seen my rep sheet, Sam. Don’t try to sugarcoat anything.” His voice is hushed and bitter now.

“Well then you should see mine sometime.” Sam offers him a lopsided grin, the familiarity of this conversation and the use of the harsh label tugging at his heart.

Bucky meets his gaze, aware of how unbalanced he must look right now, and tries to recompose himself. He forces his hands to relax and he sighs out of strained lungs. He swallows down the rising fear in his throat and blinks rapidly against the tightness behind his eyes, looking to the stars coming out in the night sky and trying to count them to give himself a distraction.

“Stop doing that and talk to me.” Sam instructs calmly.

Bucky swallows roughly again and drops his gaze to his hands once more. He takes another painful breath and exhales it slowly.

“I didn’t get to… let anything in. I-this-it-it just happened.” Bucky growls as his tongue trips over syllables and he grips his knees tightly.

He feels Sam’s calm energy and tries to let it wash over him. His insides are buzzing and he is torn between wanting to throw something and wanting to run away. Sam sees the former soldier practically shaking. The knuckles of his hand are white as he grips his knees fiercely. The exhaustion makes his blue eyes glassy and allows emotion to pour into them. But there  _is_ emotion there. Sam takes a controlled breath, and then another, silently urging Bucky to do the same.

“Hey, we will start small.” Sam says evenly, hazel eyes focused and placating, “What is the first thing you can tell me about that time?”

Bucky’s mind is split between wanting familiar trained silence and pouring out his soul with all of the strings attached. He closes his eyes for a second to collect himself before speaking softly.

“After the fall,” Bucky clears his closing throat, “They found me and dragged me away. It was snowing out and freezing against my back. My arm was-was gone, bleeding like nothing I’d had before. It stung. The snow helped numb it, but still I couldn’t-couldn’t stay awake long. There was too much… too much blood.”

Sam sees the familiar look of reliving nightmares in the other man’s eyes. He shifts to sit closer to the other man, still refraining from making any physical contact. He finally has Bucky letting his walls down and wants to keep the trend going.

“What do you remember about the arm?” Sam tries to keep his questions open and tone supportive, knowing how delicate of a subject he was digging into.

Bucky stares at his silver hand, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

“It was there when I woke up next. It was almost painful at first. My brain didn’t want to think it was there. It doesn’t feel the same. Like when you have a cast on your arm but need to scratch the skin underneath it.” Sam follows the man’s gaze to analyze the metal limb in thought.

To him, it really was a thing of mastery. It looks almost like a second skin the way it flows and moves with the rest of him. But he can see the black between the plates. He knows better to expect it to feel normal. The look on the other man's paling face tells Sam he is getting to the details that need to be uncovered. He takes another even breath to keep from jumping the gun.

“I can see the look in your eyes, Buck.” Sam mutters gently. “What is it about the arm?”

Bucky’s arm twitches automatically and his breathing picks up slightly.

“I, it wouldn’t-wouldn’t be so bad if,” He bites his tongue and shakes his head suddenly, internally fighting himself.

“If what?” Sam encourages calmly.

Bucky hisses out air through his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the familiar blankness crawling from the back of his mind, tempting him to fall back into the unmovable bliss of silence and stoicism. He can feel his heartbeat escalating and blood pumping hard through his veins. His breathing is eerily calm as his chest takes in air with a trained cadence. His cap on the emotions is failing, he can feel it. They are swirling inside of him and leaking out with the aid of all of this fear and exhaustion.

“If-If it didn’t make me this-this _thing_ that I am,” Bucky stutters nervously, the dam holding back all of his vibrating and shattering emotions broken and turned to rubble deep within his chest. His muscles are twitching and his gaze focuses.  His eyes flicker to Sam who almost recoils from the suddenly dead intensity there.

“Sam, when you look in the mirror you don’t see the devil, do you?” His voice is low and serious, barely covering up the shaking beneath his words. He waits intently until Sam shakes his head numbly, “Because every time I look I just see this thing attached to my body and the face of a killer.”

Sam exhales bluntly at the frank hatred in the other man’s voice. Bucky looks away and instantly withers like he just took a hit. He exhales sharply and jumps to his feet. He runs his hands over his tired face and grimaces at the contact of cold metal to his face. He pulls his sleeves down over his hands and paces to the wall.

“Sorry, I should keep my mouth shut.” Bucky mutters, his back still turned. His voice is quieter once more, the blank thriving of emotions replaced by dead hatred and monotony. “Please don’t… don’t tell Steve I said that. He would beat himself up for months.”

Sam gets to his feet slowly, his eyes not leaving the other man. His head is still reeling from the wide range of emotions the former soldier just went through in a few minutes but he forces himself to calm and refocus.

“Bucky, trust me, its fine. Keep talking to me, this is good, alright?” Sam approaches the breaking man cautiously.

Bucky’s breathing catches and he grits his teeth. His right hand begins to shake, the other programmed not to, and he balls it into a fist. Sam quietly notes Bucky’s trembling and pauses.

“Thanks for stopping by, Sam.” Bucky says evenly, looking out over the dark night city.

Sam can still catch the slight hitch in the man’s tone. He sighs and runs a hand over his mouth. He can see Bucky trying to close himself back up, to rebuild that internal dam, but it is getting more difficult. Sam nods once and sighs deeply, trying to get Bucky to acknowledge him directly so he can read his face. Bucky’s eyes drop to the floor and he clenches his jaw to stop the muscles from twitching.

“Thanks for saving the world, Sam.” Bucky says in a soft, genuine voice before quickly turning and exiting the room without a sound.

The only evidence that he has left is the small click of the door to his room. Sam exhales heavily, feeling a weight on his chest. He steps back once and shakes his head, running a hand through his long hair, and grabbing his beer to finish it. His eyes track the living area slowly, seeing normal features like furniture and books but also hidden intricacies like Steve’s shield and other trinkets likely from the war.

His gaze snags on the wall where he sees two sets of dog tags hanging among other pictures and newspaper clippings. Sam huffs out another sigh and feels the corner of his mouth tip up at the hanging pair of necklaces. He doesn’t have to read them to know the names pressed into the metal. Sam holds his empty bottle lightly and heads towards the closed kitchen where he is sure his brother and Steve are pacing nervously. Sam glances back once more at the empty room.

“Get some sleep, Buck.” He says gently.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback! All thoughts are welcome.


End file.
